


Gemini

by Abby_Ebon, CkyKing



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: College, Death, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Necromancy, Penguins, Tigers, Twins, Vampires, Wolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1480609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abby_Ebon/pseuds/Abby_Ebon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CkyKing/pseuds/CkyKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are twins, Harry and Anita, and they well know of ice and fire and desire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Graveborn

 Two children walking lightly in a cemetery, hand in hand, two tiny shadows amongst many. When Harry gets like this, Anita knows to simply hold his hand, anchor him, and follow. Many wouldn’t, don’t, understand but she does not care for them, she loves her brother, believes in him and it’s enough.

Harry’s wanderings lead them to a new grave, the earth still freshly disturbed, flowers and bouquets still adorning it (death is death, nothing can soften it) and the scent of carnations still in the air (she doesn’t want to realize, so she won’t see).

“It comes from here” Anita does nothing but tighten her grip, “Listen”. The sounds of the night disappear one by one, until only the sound of leaves rubbing against each other remain. Harry tilts his head to the side, like he is listening to something. She tries to do the same and the silence shatters.

A thousand voices, whispers and screams and pleads make their heads ring (she knows that she can only hear/feel a tiny part of what Harry is living through) but Harry pushes past it with the ease of somebody who did it (had to) many times before, pulling her in his wake, until only a single voice remains.

Harry smiles suddenly then, his head lifted up, like he can see something she can’t (she knows he can).

"My darlings” They bask in this voice, wrap it around them like the softest blanket, the well-worn one that is so familiar and comforting that you never want to let it go.

“Mom.”

\-----

Anita’s mind breaks open then, and it hurts so much she wants to scream, but her brother’s arms are around her, and he is whispering both in her head and out loud, so it hurts less. The cold, cold power of the grave fills her (like it filled her brother so many years before) and she finally feels whole (it burns).

\-----

“Daddy will be angry with us”, but Anita’s burning eyes shows that it doesn’t matter (he doesn’t care, he never cares, we are not here, we are dead).

They are tangled together in front of their mother’s grave, black clothes wet and dirtied, foreheads leaning together.

She tries not feel all the bodies sleeping peacefully (a lie, “the dead never sleep” is the truth that Harry taught her) in the ground and most of all her moth-…)

Harry calls back her power and she doesn’t feel anymore.

“How do you do it?”

“I have you.” *and you have me* is what he doesn’t need to say. They will always have each other’s back, even when Anita’s anger is enough to burn down the world, even when Harry is mercilessly cold, even when their father doesn’t care.

Always, always, always, because they are twins, because they love each other, because they are alone against the world.

Harry can feel his sister clearly now, as if a fire had started to burn in his mind, and it comforts him. He knows what they are called behind their back, and that it will be worse now, with the awakening of Anita’s powers, but it doesn’t matter.

The voices don’t matter, the screams don’t matter, the ghosts don’t matter, the whispers don’t matter.

He has Anita and she has him, and it’s enough.

\-----

Every night they go to the graveyard, their mother’s graveyard and Harry holds tight to Anita’s hand and they raise her from the earth, perfect and warm. She tells them about growing up in England, where Harry and Anita were born. She tells them about her sister-in-soul Lily and Lily’s husband James and how Harry was supposed to be their son, raised beside his sister and his parents in a old manor with Lily and James.

Harry doesn’t mind that might have been, so long as his mother and father and Anita would have been so close by - but Anita’s eyes are dark and wide and she holds tight to him throughout the night.

“I won’t let anyone take you, Harry – not ever.” She tells him, once their mother is tucked into the grave.

Harry smiles one of his rare smiles, small and daunted. It’s as if he doesn’t understand Anita’s feelings, no matter that he loves her, and she knows it – feels it within her own mind when Harry meets her eyes. The depth of it is more than Anita’s anger, that love is inside him, yet it’s bottled up and Harry won’t let it out. It’s not like Anita’s anger, he’s afraid of it. Afraid of letting himself feel more than a frozen surface.

“What if I wanted to go?” Harry asks her, softly as they walk side by side down the winding path that leads out of the graveyard, that leads to home.

Anita does not answer, only presses her lips into a frown that does not ever go away – not really.


	2. Hot & Cold

Harry is eighteen and he and Anita are graduating high school when Anita chooses to go to college. Harry doesn’t go to college – instead, he goes to Las Vegas while Anita goes to St. Louis, and stays and stays until she’s built herself a life. She’s got a job – as an animator – and she’s very, very good at it and follows all the rules as she’s been taught. Deep down, she knows there aren’t any rules. Not really.

Anita always calls Harry every weekend, sometimes Saturdays, sometimes Sundays – sometimes mornings, or evenings, or nights – but every weekend. They send birthday cards, and other holidays, and gifts and texts and emails and instant messages. One day, Anita tells Harry she misses him – and he jokes about his coldness, and she tells him it was a fuzzy kind of coldness.

Harry sends her Sigmund, a stuffed penguin, and she laughs until her cheeks are hot with tears and her stomach aches. Anita keeps that penguin, though – and the others that follow. They become her security blanket, silly looking fuzzy penguins that remind her of her far off, colder twin.

Anita sends him a stuffed tiger, and maybe that’s a whisper of fate – what Harry makes of it, he never says.

\-----

Harry knows how to lie, how to shape his face and mouth the words. But when he was young, he couldn't do it right. Maybe it was the eyes, too jaded for such a young child (sometimes, he thinks they are nothing but windows for the leering skull hiding inside of him) or the shadows that seem so much darker around him or the pale, pale skin. Now, he can look a man straight in the eye and think "I could break you, shatter your mind and twist your soul and make you wish for a death I will never grant, so don't you dare think you are better than us."


	3. Lovers Near

Anita chooses French Poetry as one of her classes out of wistfulness. She remembers her mother’s hair falling around her and her brother, a dark curtain to hide them from the world, and how she would just hold Harry’s hand and listen. Her mother loved French, and sometimes, she would take one of her books, well read and dog eared, and read to them, poetry, fairy tales, stories, it would change each time, but she always loved it. It’s one of her fondest memories, her and the people she loves the most, hidden away from the rest of the world.

As she sits in the lecture hall, waiting for the class to begin, she thinks that she would like to do it again, just sit somewhere, warm and comfortable, and read to her brother, or have him read to her, just the two of them. It’s a nice thing to think of, until she can join him in Las Vegas.

The sudden coldness that runs through her spine (the dead are near) is what pulls her out of her thoughts. It’s something she feels more and more frequently, ever since the vampires revealed themselves to the rest of the world (they have stopped hiding their powers as much), and now, every night without fail, she feels icy fingers on the back of her neck.

But for the first time, power reaches back towards her, silky and curious, and she snaps her shields back into place. Her heart in her mouth, she stares at the door, feeling it, him (the power was male) coming closer and closer, until it slowly opens. Her professor walks in, followed by one of them.

She can’t hear what is said through the buzzing in her ears (her necromancy wants to play), she only has eyes for the vampire, the corpse, standing in front of them.

(As focused as she is, she misses the flash of recognition in his eyes)

Because she is what she is, she knows this is what vampires are, corpses, and if they are beautiful ones. And the one in front of her really is, all black hair and white skin and perfectly chiseled features, but what really strikes her are the eyes, the darkest blue she has ever seen. They take over her vision until the only thing she can do is drown (she is not the only one).

It, he, glides towards her, focused on her like she is prey and he wants nothing more but to eat her. When he reaches her, he takes her hand in his, and drops a kiss on its back : 

“Bonsoir mademoiselle, my name is Jean Claude, may I ask for yours?” His voice is sin, toying along her nerves, making her toes curl.

“Anita” she sighs.

Heat is filling her , climbing through the hand Jean Claude is holding, going higher and higher until it reaches her heart, pools in her stomach (it burns).

“Enchanté”

Later that night, she discovers that she loves St Louis, likes the death hanging in the air, wrapping around like a shroud. And maybe, she thinks distantly (eyes burning blue) it’s enough to make her stay.

(She will never remember this meeting (but a part of her, the one that will become the Executioner, never forgives and never forget) but still, she starts wearing a cross around her neck the next day.)

Somewhere in Las Vegas, drowned in life and energy and movement, Harry feels something like grief welling up in his throat.

\----

There are rules for the staff of New Taj, those both stated but not written out in black and whiter – and those unspoken. Victor Belleci is one of the later, it goes without saying; hands off the boss’s son. Harry’s heard enough about him from the women he works with to know he’s got his own fan club among Harry’s coworkers. 

(He never hears about himself, but there are lots of knowing looks behind his back.) 

Harry’s helping to tend the bar, when Victor comes in and sits at the counter, he wears a black and white suit (Harry couldn’t tell what kind of brand if quizzed) and it looks good on him with his pale blue eyes and white (not blond, but white like snow) hair. He isn’t alone, but has a friend – or lackey, tagging along with him. That someone has hair black as Harry’s own mixed with snow white like Victor. 

Victor, though, orders his own drink and Harry likes him for that. 

As the coldness from the ice seeps from the glass and touches him, Harry knows that somewhere – somehow – he is being influenced, made vulnerable. It makes him hold his breath searchingly, reaching within, as if there is a leak and he’s trying to patch a dam. Harry’s isn’t quite aware of it when Victor reaches for the glass, and takes it, touches it – touches him.

That, Harry is very, very aware of because his defenses had been within – not about him, and Victor’s fingers against his are hot, throbbing, alive – it steals Harry’s breath. 

All his life, Harry has known the dead in ways most never dare (most never even see a body die) but he’s not known the living so very well. And now, now he wants to. Wants to know Victor, to touch him, to smell him, hear him – see him every day and to taste him, *take* him. 

Harry smiles at Victor’s wide blue eyes. 

“I get off in an hour.” Harry offers, without Victor saying a word. Harry can read the want that was within Victor, a emptiness that can fit Harry is calling to him, needing him. Harry knows that this wasn’t planned, not by him – not by Victor – but it happened, and Harry needs Victor in his life, needs to be needed and wanted. 

(By the living, as well as the dead.) 

“I’ll be here.” Victor murmurs against the glass. 

There are some rules that need breaking. 

(Victor sends away his black-and-white haired friend, watching Harry all the while possessively.)


	4. Rising Death

The first time Harry meets him, Edward is dead, his body cold and pale and his soul a frail fluttering thing. It’s curiosity that draws the necromancer closer to that body and soul. There is not a mark upon that body, yet it is still dead.

Hadrian Blake won’t let him stay that way, because he must know the how and why of this. He calls to that soul, wordlessly, and it tells him what he needs to know – this name’s name is Ted Forrester, but he likes to be called Edward better – uses that name like the armies of old would a rallying standard. He has unfinished business, and it is not hard to let his soul enter the body, and Harry is there, hovering over him, when he wakes.

“It’s not your time yet.” Harry tells him, when he’s tired of Edward watching him with wary eyes, silently demanding an explanation.

“Who are you?” Edward asks it, softly, but Harry – who can hear the dead, who had heard Edward’s soul speaking, and believes that somehow Edward recalls that (he doesn’t know if that is the usual thing or not, he’s rarely revived the dead to a living state).

“I’d rather not say.” Harry confesses, with a smile and his eyes knowingly meet Edward, knowing him in ways no one else can or ever will. Edward would flinch from that look, because he deserves it, he remembers the cold and the calling and the green of Harry’s eyes and the smell burning myrrh. Such a person as Harry is – it isn’t normal, and whatever Harry is – it is a part of what he can do too. That makes him not wholly human.

“What did this to you?” It’s what drew Harry to Edward; really, it’s the heart of why Harry brought him back. Harry will not try to control Edward, for Edward isn’t dead, he never crossed over to wherever other truly dead go – but his body had been cool to the touch, his heart ceased to beat – and his soul fluttering away.

Edward answers though, and looks surprised with himself for doing so. He tells Harry about a monster that kills with its breath – and how Edward is hunting it. Harry nods thoughtfully, as he listens to what the dead say in the silence.

_(“That man’s as dangerous as the so-called monster he’s hunting, killed…” - “It was called a Hydra in my day – might be a basilisk now-a-days…” – “He’s got lovely eyes, Harry, my dear..” – “Could do worse, could do better…” – “Damn, check out that ass – ohh, and he’s got dangerous dripping off him, and don’t you see men going around so heavily armed anymore, do you?”- “One of Van Cleef’s boys on a hunt, I don’t doubt…”)_

“I’ll help you; we should be on the same side.” Harry offers, and Edward nods carefully.

“What are you, some kind of Reaper?” It’s a nickname that sticks to Hadrian Blake thereafter, and it’s all Edward’s fault. Which he takes both amusement and a perverse pride in, naming Harry so well – because until Van Cleef introduces them to each other two weeks later, the only name Edward calls him that night is Reaper.

“Well, you were dead.” Harry admits, which is something that Edward had suspected, but to have it confirmed aloud so calmly makes him shiver.

“You can call me Death than, Reaper.” Edward is on a hunt and he’s rarely ever had backup since Van Cleef let him loose – this is his hunt, but the Reaper has more than earned to stand at his side, saving his hide.

Death doesn’t say that he doesn’t think this slight black haired youth with strange green eyes and cold hands will make it to see the end of the hunt – which he will die tonight or sometime before it’s done.

Reaper proves him wrong in so many ways – and mostly, he likes the surprise of it.

(Harry and Edward don’t really talk about what happened on the hunt – their first together and their first meeting – but the dead do, and those that hear the dead learn just how dangerous Death and the Reaper are together – lore only the dead dare to tell.)

\----

It’s just after her first lesson on vampire hunting from Manny that Anita finally gather the courage to call her brother, to reveal to him what she discovered that day on her way home from college (black and white and blue that *burned*).

It is the first time she phones him during the week, their calls until then kept to the week-ends, to the two days that they wait for impatiently every week (even after those years, they are still not used to being apart from each other).

From this, Harry already knows that something is wrong, and when he answers the phone, his voice already holds worry: “Anita, are you alright?”

She allows herself to marvel at how much freer he can be with his emotions, and, as always, the happiness of knowing that it’s only for *her* makes something glow inside of her, so much that she nearly forgets why she called him in the first place.

“Anita? Anita!?” Her brother’s voice makes her open her mouth to answer him…

But still, she can’t force the words past her lips, their weight making them lodge in her throat, a throbbing thing that nearly makes her vomit (her mind fighting against itself, brown against blue).

"Harry…”

She pauses then, takes a breath, and lets it slowly. Her brother deserves the truth, and she will never give him less than this (she will never give him less than everything he wants).

“I, I will, I will not be joining you in Las Vegas.”

The words, finally out, seem to echo in her empty apartment, hang around her as if tangible, chains of her (*his*, a part of her hisses) own making.

In comparison, Harry’s breaths on the other side of the phone are oddly quiet, so much that she wonders if he has stopped breathing.

“I like St Louis. I think I will be staying here after college, Manny has even found me a job, as an animator, and he is teaching me how to hunt vampires.”

She knows that she is rambling, but she can’t stop herself.

“Well, it makes sense. St Louis does have the reputation of being the city of the dead, doesn’t it? Nothing like Las Vegas at all”

Her brother’s voice is smooth again, holding no traces of his previous .(She doesn’t feel the spider web cracks spreading through his ice like control). This reassures her, to know that he is not angry at her, and allows her to continue talking, to tell him about her week, what she did and the people she met, and to take comfort in his voice as he does the same.

When they finally hang up, Anita goes to bed, and stays unaware of what happens to her brother.

In his tiny apartment, Harry lets himself slide to the floor, the voices of the dead quiet in his head for once (grief can lead to psychic shock, he remembers). He knows that Anita and he are dangerous to each other when they are together, but still, the possibility of living together had been a small hope inside of him, something to cling to in the dark of the night.

Even though it’s gone now, he is happy that his sister, his twin, has found a place for herself. They will never let each other go (phone calls and letters and messages), but, in the end, it is best if they (harry&anita) stay separated.

(Grief tastes a lot like tears, he finds out for the second time.)

The warm power that settles around him, seconds before someone knocks on his door, makes him lift his head and dry his eyes, even though he knows it will be useless. Now…now, he just has to make a life out of himself, and maybe this is the first step (maybe it will make acceptance hurt less). 


	5. Dangerous Days

It was right that Harry first heard of Van Cleef from the dead, he as a man called the Undertaker. They told Harry (and they would know best) that Van Cleef had killed the most – vampires, shape shifters, witches, fairies, normal people – of anyone in the world today. It was daunting to meet him face to face, to say the least.

They met in a park, on one of Harry's rare days off from New Taj, and the day was a nice one, sunny and warm but the shadows Harry sat under kept it from being too much of a good thing. He sat under an old oak tree, leaned against it and closed his eyes so he must have looked like he was either sleeping or dead.

He'd later learn that Van Cleef had gone looking for him, had wanted to meet the man who had caught the eye of his boss's son. (Who would someday soon bring back to life his protégée, Edward.)

"Hey, kid, you alright?" Harry felt the hand on his neck, firm fingers pressing for a pulse. Harry opened his eyes to see Van Cleef kneeling next to him, frowning down at him, and Harry wondered what his pulse felt like, was it as normal as anyone else.

Or a barely there thread twanging, like someone who had more in common with the dead than the living was probably supposed to feel like.

Harry inhaled, breath rattling in with a sigh that reminded him he was of the living.

"I will be." Harry wanted it to be true, so he said it as if it was so.

"Good, we haven't met properly yet, don't die until we do have our boss introduce us, alright?" Van Cleef's hand had fallen away from Harry with his eyes opening. Harry nodded thoughtfully, and when Van Cleef stood, and turned to go down the park's path, he spoke.

"No, we haven't met Undertaker, but I know you – I've always known you, the dead tell me things about you." Van Cleef paused when he would have taken a step, and looked over his shoulder, to find Harry smiling at him from the shadow of the oak tree. He looked fae and strange and the branches of the oak looked like they were reaching out, or like horns.

"What do they say, the dead?" Van Cleef asked thoughtfully, wondering with his eyes if Harry were crazy or a curiosity. Harry did not know which it would be more dangerous to be, and so was honest – in that much he and the dead were much alike, they saw no cause to lie (except Harry would, if needed, he knew how to – but not often why).

"That they were glad to meet you." Harry knew the dead, they were honest, but not always good – and Van Cleef was a killer of monsters of one kind or another, and very good at that kind of hunting and killing. Van Cleef could have smiled, or it could have been a glint of sunlight caught on something, or a stretch of shadow playing along his face.

Van Cleef walked away from Harry, but Harry and he both knew they'd see each other again and be working side by side more often than not.

One night, after getting back from college, Anita asks Manny to teach her how to slay vampires for the first time. She had been aware that he was a vampire executioner, but it was something that she never dwelled on, a fact that she just accepted. She had never really thought of what it meant, because she had only been peripherally aware of vampires, just another flavor of chills.

It happens in the days after she starts wearing her cross, after she starts learning how to avoid looking people straight into the eyes (the better to stare at your soul with, my child). Manny is her mentor, the animator who found her and taught her how to wield her powers (the little he is aware of, really). He has never tried to turn her into his successor, just gave her warnings and informed her of when he wouldn't be able to teach her, because of his executions.

But still, she asks this of him and he accepts, not asking her why. It means she doesn't have to tell him that her necromancy now feels colored with anger (hers) when vampires come near her. And so, he teaches her, shows her how to wield guns and knives, drills into her head the uses of holy water and all the tricks he picked up along the years, makes her learn how to fight (how to kill).

\-----

The first vampire she kills has lovely blue eyes.

It is because of this that she now stands in front of the yellow tape surrounding the crime scene she needs access to, blocked by a policeman. He is tall, built like a wrestler.

She is nobody's weapon, and she will not let herself be pointed in a direction and let loose. She participates in the investigations when she can, but she is a woman, small and dark and delicate, and it makes it difficult for her.

But she makes up for her size with her temper and strength of will, and that's why, when the policeman's attempts to stop from entering starts to get on her nerves, she side-steps him and pushes the tape up, slipping under it.

"What do you think you are doing?" is the only thing that is asked to her when she evades him once again, neatly avoiding his arm. She is grudgingly impressed by his voice, as blank as his cop face. He may have annoyed her, but she can recognize that he *may* be professional.

But she is Anita Blake, so she turns her head and only says :

"My job" and she continues walking, drawn toward the recent corpse, somewhere on the first floor of the house in front of her.

She hears whispers behind her and something that sounds like "Damn, girl got nerves" (Years later, she will learn that it was Zerbrowski, and will simply roll her eyes at him), but she doesn't look back, still smug with her the fact that she managed to make them speechless (not something easy, she tells herself, because they have seen a lot in their lives).

The policeman who tried to stop her is left to look speculatively at her back, not making any more moves toward her.

This is the first time Dolph and her meet (but not the last).


	6. Blue eyes tell no lies

The first vampire Anita kills has lovely blue eyes.

(She knows it's important, even if she doesn't understand why)

It's her first hunt without Manny by her side, or rather, her by Manny's side. Where before she had only observed and learned, now is the time to *do*.

She is equal parts thrilled and scared ("Cautious" her mind corrects, "I am not scared") by this prospect, and to make matters worse, the cop that had stopped her at that crime scene, well, one of the many, but he had marked her mind, is here too…and he is apparently trying to set her on fire with the force of his stare, according to the constant itch that had plagued her since she got to the cemetery.

But it's not only him that has her on her guard. There is also the other vampire executioner, Ted, with the easy smile and the all-around nice attitude, that, despite of all of it, still makes her hair stand on ends.

There is something…off, about him, but she can't pinpoint what it is exactly.

It is only when they are facing off against the…vampire, the *monster* (kidnapper*rapist*torturer) that she understands, and she has never been gladder to work with someone that makes her uneasy than in this moment.

(On the ground, with an enraged vampire attached to her arm like a very determined leech (*Ah!*), not a very enviable position, many would think, and they would be *right*)

As she desperately struggles to keep him away from her jugular, she strains towards the vial of holy water that had rolled away from her belt because of the impact, the same one that had robbed her of her gun. Her world narrows on that goal, because it's the only weapon left to her, and that is why she is taken by surprise when the vampire harshly raises his head, forcing brown and blue to collide.

The sight, instead of stopping her, makes something burn inside of her, her power rearing and hissing like a snake, delicate prickles of ice spreading inside of her like a cobra's flared hood.

The unexpected reaction gives her enough strength to lean and close her fingers around the vial's neck, to use as a handle and smash it open on her opponent's head.

This time, it is his turn to rear away from her, water digging trenches in his skin and turning pale skin into so many rivulets of wax, and it is the moment "Ted" chooses to pull out the flamethrower ("Where the hell did this come from!?").

The flames perfectly illuminate his eyes, blue, she notices (a recurring theme in her life these days), as icy and empty as a clear wintry sky.

When everything is over…"My name is Edward" and "You are interesting, Anita Blake", which, wow, creepy, though informative.

It doesn't explain the shiver (of anticipation) that crawls up her spine.

\------

"I've heard so much about you." At first sight of Chiang Bibiana, Queen of the White Tiger Clan, Harry silently agrees that no truer words have ever been so understated. Harry knows of her husband Max from what Victor says of him (he is proud of his father, seeks to be like a vampire mob-boss) – but it is Victor who has brought him here to meet his mother, and she – he thinks – is deadlier than either of them. Certainly she keeps interesting company. The only other person in Chiang Bibiana's guest room besides herself and Harry is a man that's been watching Harry since he stepped through the door.

He isn't one of Bibi's tigers, and Harry knows he is not one of the dead, but there is a curious flat look to those eyes, like a snake's eye. This is a man, who doesn't care if Harry lives or dies, but thinks he holds Harry's life and death in his grip. Harry makes sure to put him at ease by keeping his attention upon Bibi as if he doesn't notice the hit-man.

"Chiang Bibiana." Harry has no more to say to her than her name, it is she after all who called *him* here.

"My son is quite besotted with you, a pity, as I had high hopes that he would take a Chiang worthy of his blood." Bibiana's eyes tell Harry all too clearly what she thinks of Harry's worth.

"He's young yet." Harry agrees, because he knows the kind of love Harry and Victor have – it's like his mother and father shared, and at his mother's death, his father moved on quickly enough. Harry holds no illusions, he is a necromancer in a world that would hate and fear him (if they knew) and has those that would kill him if they knew the power he wielded.

(This Harry knows from the dead necromancers who have taught and spoken to him since his mother's death. When she spoke to him and introduced the first of those teachers.)

Harry won't live long in this world as he is, he knows it, and with a hit-man hovering over Bibiana's shadow, sees it. He can say it because there is no telling how long Victor will live after his passing (but Harry will make sure he lives if he can help it – even if he has to die to make certain).

"Indeed. My son's doings have always interested me." Bibiana's runs her gaze over Harry's body, tall and willowy; pale skin and black hair and green-brown eyes. She knows well who holds power here, in her own home. It isn't Harry. Or her shadow-man.

"You wanted us to meet, didn't you? – And not Victor…" Victor had tried to give him the impression that this meeting was his own idea, but Harry had suspected otherwise and by the smile on Bibiana's lips, it was just as he had thought.

(He does not really know why he agreed to this, he did not *need* to do so. did it. He thinks he wanted Victor's mother to like him – to approve of and love him like his own mother had.)

Harry's words cause Bibiana's smile to widen, approving despite her hard eyes.

"I think we will get along well, Hadrian Blake." Bibiana does not offer a handshake, but an embrace, rubbing her cheeks over Harry's own (he will later learn she's claimed him, scent marked him, as a part of her own Clan, human or no).

"And I will keep your secrets, necromancer." Bibiana whispers into Harry's ear, so soft he knows the man in her shadow has not heard it.

"You will help me to keep my Clan, my Di Li, my husband, and the city of Las Vegas, safe, yes?" Bibiana pulls back, looking upon him in the face, holding onto his shoulders and smiling in a way that is kind and almost motherly. Harry's heart aches for family, for his mother – for his sister.

He finds himself nodding his agreement before words practically saying themselves without his will.

"Of course, Chiang Bibiana, I will – I do." It feels like a vow.

"Good, that is very good. This is Van Cleef, he has always helped us, for fees, for favors – but always his price is fair, and his worth is great. He too will help us." Bibiana throws a smile at her dour looking shadow.

"Help us what?" Harry asks, as it occurs to him that Bibiana means *more* than to keep the people of Las Vegas safe.

"To be seen." So says the Queen, and she and he both know that it will be as she says.

(A dangerous thing, but the living strive for worth, to prove they are not dead – and Harry can understand that.)

"By who?" Harry asks, dread making him still as the dead, but excitement pounds through his body so much so he wonders at how he is not shaking.

"The World." Chiang Bibiana states with a shrug and a wave of her hand, as if it will be that simple.

(In the end, it almost is.)


	7. Death can (and will) hold you

When Harry had been a child, growing up with Anita at his side, the stone walls of the nunnery their abbess grandmother had shut them in all into had been little challenge. Harry had known when Anita was happy, or hungry, or most often – angry – and he had not have to see his sister to be sure of it.

Anita had known the same of him, and their grandmother in the end had had to admit that they had had the gift she called the Rising – but the world called animation of the dead. He's heard those that use that gift called animators – or necromancers.

He likes the later best. Grandmother Blake had told them to use their gift wisely and sparingly, but Anita had made it a part of her day-to-day job – and Harry, well, he could not stop the gift from using him at times.

It's how Harry knows that in the middle of a capoeira game with Edward, he's going to get his ass kicked, his knee jab is too low and Edward sees it coming and flinches away and kicks out under Harry's raised leg and sweeps his foot forward to make Harry fall (but Anita is suddenly marked, a mark like a scar raised up between them, like ice between two rivers that want to be one, two bodies, one soul) Anita's been marked by one of the undead…one of the vampires.

"Are you alright, Hadrian?" Edward murmurs, crouching down on his knees to see into Harry's wide eyes. Harry in all the time that Edward has known him has never lost his balance like that – never been unsettled so easily.

"My sister…." Harry starts, touching his chest where it aches, the scar that can't be seen, and the mark that parts where Harry begins and Anita ends. Edward's head tilts and his eyes narrow, for Harry's never mentioned any family. Edward had thought him some stray that the White Tiger Clan had plucked up off the streets of Los Vegas, with a talent to raise the dead – and bring back the dead.

"What about her?" Edward can be calm and patient, just as Harry can be cold and still like the vampires he so avoids.

"A vampire has marked her." Harry admits it, lowering his eyes, as if ashamed to have not told Edward he had family before. Edward doesn't tell Harry that there might not be help or hope, that vampires mark the ones they find curious and interesting, the ones they want to live along with them – to play with. Edward is glad Harry is so wary of vampires – it is something Edward doesn't think his sister is.

"Who is she – we …" Harry looks at Edward, pained and hurting from more than a tumble from the floor and more than a mark that twists between joined souls can account for.

"I can not go to her. She does not want me. She is in St. Louis. Her name is Anita Blake. You have met her." Edward isn't used to being taken aback, but he remembers Anita Blake, the little Executioner, she who takes up the rulings of judges and juries and fights to make right what might have wronged.

He liked her.

"Your sister…?" Edward says it again, as if to be sure, and Harry nods, his black hair hanging in his face, he looks lost and defeated – and Edward nods back, unsmiling.

"I'll save her." Edward says it, because in the end – he wants to save Hadrian Blake too.

\-----

When Edward asks her for the location of the Master of the city's, Nikolaos', lair, Anita wants nothing more but to tell him, because having Death on her side would make everything much easier, and less painful for her, she thinks, her bruises throbbing in protest. Unfortunately, she can't, because involving anyone else would forfeit Catherine's life, and her own.

This is why she now has the full brunt of his stare focused on her, his wintry eyes cold and blank, as if he is reviewing the many ways he could make her suffer, which, to be honest, is probably what he is actually doing.

Even knowing this, Anita can't help but like him, because Edward may be a cold and ruthless killer, but he is reliable, and he can be funny when he wants to (and he is like her, like them). His coldness is not fuzzy and reassuring, but she thinks she could get used to it.

Edward, for his part, thinks that the Blakes are too stubborn for their own good sometimes, even if it's one of the reasons he likes them. That's why, even though he knows that Hadrian would not be happy *at all*, he is ready to make Anita talk by any means necessary. As he thinks this, he remembers Harry's eyes flashing burning blue for a single instant, his hand touching his chest as if some part of him had been ripped off, and knows that if he does not hurry, both of them will be doomed by the hunger of the one who marked Anita. He doesn't know if killing the one who did this to them will not drag Anita, and with her Hadrian, to their death, so, he has to focus on stopping the vampire from feeding on Anita's strength (being around Harry has taught him a lot of things).

However, despite the pain, Anita's eyes are cold and steady, and seeing them reassures him. With eyes like those, she can't be too far gone yet.

(He already has the perfect sniper rifle in mind if Harry ends up dead while under the care of the White Tiger Clan, under Victor's care)

\-----

"Nikolaos bit me. I think she plans on making me a personal servant."

Edward would sigh if it didn't mean breaking the amused façade he was showing to Anita, and wonders how they keep getting in those situations.

At least, he tells himself, he now has her cooperating with him to kill Nikolaos, and to find the one who marked her, though she doesn't know it.

But first :

"You need to clean this bite. It's going to hurt like hell."

"I know. Will you help me?"

"I intended to torture the information out of you, and now, you are asking me to pour acid on you? Of course I will help"

(nobody said he couldn't vindictive when he wanted to)

"It's holy water"

"It will feel just the same" he promises.

A short pause, then :

"Let's go already"

\-----

Anita's screams make him jump out of the armchair he had brought to her bedroom to spend his watch on, and hurry to her side, mini-Uzi still hand. For a moment, she seems to calm down, before a single whisper of "Jean Claude" signals the beginning of her thrashing, forcing him to let go of his gun to restrain her and stop her from hurting herself. It's when he knows that something is horribly wrong, because the Executioner he knows would have gone for her gun the instant she felt somebody touching her in this state, and that's what he had been prepared for. Contrary to his expectations, the moment his hands encircles her wrists, she starts screaming anew, with whispers of "please, no" making their appearance.

The only thing he can do is scream her name, and hope that she wakes up. After the fifth time, her screams start to stop, and she opens panic filled eyes to him.

Something icy and sharp enough to draw blood settles in his chest.

He has a name, now: "Jean Claude…"

\-----

He had wanted Anita to rest so that she could be at her best to deal with the Master of the city and her servants, and instead, he has to accompany her to an animator job, something that will cost her energy.

(When she had asked him if he had ever seen a raising ritual, laughter had nearly broken his mask)

Now, they are in a graveyard, surrounded by ghouls controlled by an undead animator (he doesn't deserve the title of necromancer, of one who can raise the dead as easily as they breath), with no fire at hand.

Just the odds he likes during a hunt.

(Anita is always so very entertaining to be around.)

\-----

After following the wererats through the caves leading to Nikolaos' lair, their hunt can finally start. They only have to open the sole door in the room they ended up in to reach the room where Nikolaos' coffin rests, along with the coffins of all of the vampires closest to her.

"How arrogant…" he can't help but whisper at this sight, and Anita's agreement is reflected on her face.

That will make things much less interesting, he can't help but think.

The first kill is effortless, just a syringe filled with silver nitrate stabbed into the sleeping vampire's (Valentine's, the one who gave Anita her scars, he remembers) neck and the plunger being depressed. Strangely, it seems to disturb Anita more than the stake she had wanted to use in the first place. Edward only shrugs internally and moves on to the next vampire, while Anita takes care of another one.

But, when he starts getting closer, he feels something cold settling on his shoulders, and it makes him wary. In the split-second it takes him to associate the feeling with what he feels around "awake" vampires (ever since he was brought back), he already has his gun raised and aimed, and fire into the vampire's chest.

The noise makes Anita turn her, and allows her to see that Aubrey had not been completely asleep like every vampires she had met normally were. She spares a moment to think that Edward was obviously more sensitive to the supernatural than she had first thought, before she notices Nikolaos, Burchard, her human servant, and Zachary, the reanimated animator (which makes her snort with laughter internally) standing in front of the door.

"Edward!" is the only thing she has to scream to make him turn around and fire on the ones they had come to kill. The fact that she was able to see Nikolaos seemed to have stunned them, probably because they must have been hidden by her power, but Anita doesn't care, because their hesitation allows Edward's bullets to reach them.

At the same time, she draws her gun, intending to fire on Nikolaos, the bitch that she is. However, before she can do it, she feels her necromancy reacting to a zombie (to zombies), which she can feel is standing behind the Master of the city (she doesn't notice her power stealing away the one that kept Zachary animated). With but a thought, she directs it to restrain Nikolaos, and stops her from retaliating against Edward who killed both of the men she had with her.

She does not dare linger on the fact that it's Phillip, and instead uses the opportunity to get back the shotgun she had left near of the coffin.

Shooting Nikolaos in the head is as satisfying as she had imagined.

\-----

Afterwards, while the wererats thank Edward for killing Nikolaos and freeing them, Anita goes to the coffins that were wrapped in crosses, and open them until she finds the one that held Jean Claude.

Before he can say a single thing, she hits him as hard as she can in his pretty face with the butt of her shotgun : "Don't you ever dare do something like that again, you son of a bitch!"

This is also very satisfying, she thinks as she walks away.

(She doesn't notice that Edward had gone after her, and that he had observed the so called Jean Claude long and hard, his eyes as icy as a winter sky. The only reason he doesn't try to kill him is because it could end both Anita and Harry, and the fact that him being out of his coffin should be enough to make him stop feeding from Anita)


	8. Après moi, le déluge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on vampire marks in the Anita Blake books;
> 
> First Mark: The vampire his/her blood with the human servant. The first mark grants the human servant greater endurance, healing, speed and resistance to vampire mental powers, and an almost complete immunity to their own vampire's mental powers.
> 
> Second Mark: "Eyes are the windows to the soul/power". Floating points of flame in the color of the vampire's eyes that merged with the servant's own, allows the vampire master to draw power from the human servant, to experience food and drink consumed by the servant, and to enter the servant's dreams.
> 
> Third Mark, blood drinking of the servant – metal communication between master and servant; full endurance granted to the servant.
> 
> Fourth Mark: The servant drinks the vampire's blood, cementing their bond. It conveys immortality to the servant, almost complete mental communication, and allows the servant to draw on the vampire's strength.

1 – Alejandro / 2 – Jean-Claude

Anita could feel her entire self protesting against Alejandro's grip on her arm, feeling as if his fingers were tightening on more than her flesh, fire burning under the iciness of his skin.

It did not stay that way.

As soon as he forced her to look at his eyes, she felt it, warmth spreading from his fingers to hers, a deceptively gentle warmth that grew harsher the more she struggled against it, ember to flames, flames to wild fire, until it felt like only the coldness of death was keeping her alive.

The satisfaction, in the brief instant she takes to notice it, caught between metaphysical and very physical struggle she is engaged in, is akin to wriggling worms against her skin, mixing with the scent of rotting vegetation and rain and *blood* she can feel from him, with the weight of his age on her shoulders.

It's a very unpleasant mix.

(Brown joins the Blue that was already inside of her, slowly starts to circle it)

1 – Alejandro / 2 – Jean-Claude

Mr (a part of her can't help but snort at this, why does she always end up with the "sophisticated" monsters ?) Oliver is a mountain to her senses, not just because of the amount of power, more than anything she has felt before, his body hides, but for the way it plucks on the strings of her self-control, dust swirling around her, the instinctual fear of entering a dark cave, the feel of something ready to fall on her at any moment.

But more than that is the sheer weight of *time* that hangs around him (her body disappearing under the onslaught of years) like a burial shroud, wrapping her chest and *tightening* until she feels like she has never been alive in the first place and-

"Hello Ms Blake, I am glad to finally meet you"

Everything stops when he finally opens his mouth (makes an effort to keep his power *in*)

2 – Alejandro / 2 – Jean-Claude

The Lamia's scales whispering against the cave's floor makes her go faster, regardless of the fact that she can't see anything and that she may very well break her neck (better death than being a slave, better than ending up in Alejandro's hands).

* * *

The freezing water soaking up her clothes makes the warm wind that starts blowing in her direction all the more incongruous, the effect only increased by the smell of flowers, something sweet and lightly lemony that she can't quite recognize, at odd with the scent of earth that permeates the air, coats her mouth.

It is only when she sees the twin dark fires floating toward her that she remembers where she had faced this before, running away from Nikolaos' rage, blue fire following in her wake.

She does not want to be a human servant, will never want to, but she cannot fight against this (yet).

So, she turns her back on it, and continues deeper into the cave, deeper into the water.

(will-o'-the-wisps leading her to a watery grave, how fitting)

2 – Alejandro / 3 – Jean-Claude

When she had lost consciousness in Richard's arms, she had not expected to wake up from it, and least of all in Jean-Claude's bed.

And now, the slippery power that she had always managed to keep at bay, except for when sleep took her, was closer than ever, trying (and failing) to wrap itself around her necromancy (vampires are just corpses after all, prettiness is optional).

* * *

Seeing her "master" makes her want to kill something, preferably him, or even Richard for bringing her here. "Death by Lamia poison" sounded like a better idea than *this*, which doesn't hesitate to tell them.

After that, she mainly ignores the vampire, her mouth going on auto-pilot while she is studying the new *thing* so close to her mind, and how to keep him, no, it, out of her head

Though, learning that he had been the one to undress her, that he had *drank her blood* while she was near death is enough to get the anger that she always keep close to her heart roaring (calling for the Blue's death).

She agrees.

* * *

 

"The name of the Master of the City is Jean-Claude, he knows how to hide his power very well."

"I wonder, what changed your mind, Ms Blake ?"

"He gave me the third mark. I want him *dead*"

3 – Alejandro / 3 – Jean-Claude

The knife slices a neat line of blood along her throat, and Alejandro doesn't hesitate one second before leaning in to drink it.

She opens her mouth to, what? scream? curse?, she doesn't even know, but all of that is rendered meaningless when she feels his mouth against her neck.

The flowers are back, going down her throat, choking her, coating her tongue with sweetness and decay, and then, fire, and ashes and it *hurts*…

4 – Alejandro / 3 – Jean-Claude

The blood sliding down her throat tastes good, sweet even, numerous recollections of doing such a thing comes to her/his/their mind (something far beyond telepathy).

She can read him like an open book, the reason why he wanted her as his servant so much : necromancer.

(the word feels like power and control an *hunger* in his mind)

* * *

Looking down at Jean-Claude laid out on the altar, an unwilling sacrifice to a former Aztec God (she can remember the power of offerings flowing through her from Alejandro), she hesitates, just one second, before rounding on Oliver and staking him in the heart, a vampire's speed and strength in her every movement.

Power rushes out of him in his death, like a spring blooming from a mountain, clear and icy cold, and she drinks from it, as much as she can, anything to put out the fire ravaging her body, her mind.

* * *

She doesn't use a wooden stake for her master vampire, Alejandro's eyes wide with surprise as she takes him apart piece by piece with just her bare hands, choking and ripping and *tearing*, exposing muscles and bones to the air, digging deeper and deeper until she reaches his spine and…

She. Let. Go.

0 – Jean-Claude

Laying in her hospital bed, Anita can't help but remember Oliver's last moments, the power that had flowed out of him, so much like the mountain she felt he was.

It had felt like the hiss of an enraged snake, the rumbling of an angry mountain, like scales delicately rubbing on her skin _._

Having felt that millennia old power drowning and cleansing her, it does not surprise her that the death of Oliver and dying with Alejandro as she killed him has made her free of Jean-Claude's marks. She is mastered no more.

(Most of all, it had felt like change.)

* * *

 

Hadrian Blake meets Augustine in something like an accident. They weren't supposed to meet. It was Max's fault that they did at all. Max has Victor at his side, and Victor's insisted that Domino and Crispin be at Harry's side until the white tiger Li Da returned to him. They are of Victor's Clan and one day (if Bibiana has no daughters) he will be King of their Clan – or of a Clan of his own. They obey Victor and meet Harry's exasperated stares and put-upon sighs with good will and the enjoyment of those who like to see others suffer and squirm– the fiends. Harry goes to Bibiana – Vicotor's mother, Queen of the White Tiger Clan.

Bibiana welcomes him into her rooms with wide open arms that enclose to smother him, and cheeks rubbed affectionately in greeting.

"Sit, sit, I am just sending the Master of Chicago and his lions on their way." Bibiana says with a glance at the group that Harry hadn't noticed until Bibiana looks to them. Augustine, the Master of Chicago, is – of course – a vampire, and must have been here to pay his respects and greet the White Tiger Clan Queen, Max's wife, his tiger to call.

Augustine was a mob-boss, where once Max had been one as well. Harry's been told this by Victor, so he keeps standing in the face of the vampire that sits on the recliner (he is the only one doing so among his people)– despite that Bibiana waves for Harry to sit at her side as she settles onto a loveseat.

"Who's this?" Augustine asks, smile small enough to not show fangs.

"Harry, my Victor's….friend." Bibiana purrs that word, pauses upon it, and almost seems to savor the flavor of it. Harry is aware of how much she favors him and his relationship with her son – if she did not, she would have made sure all her Clan knew it.

"My congratulations…" Augustine's eyes travel over Harry, measuring and weighing his worth. Harry knows what Augustine sees, a human, one who smells like tiger, not a good match for the son of a Master Vampire – let alone the Master of Las Vegas.

Augustine wonders if Max is weakening. Harry can hear that thought, loud and ringing like a bell, all the voices the dead have he can hear. Usually those thoughts do not affect him, he has taught himself to control what he does and does not hear (muffles it by the static of all the sounds, like a radio that picks up everything and isn't tuned) – but sometimes, sometimes a voice of a vampire slips through.

Harry feels warmth touch his cheeks, anger rolling into him, and knows the cold power that rushes through him now should be Anita's to claim and control – but she does not, will not, and Harry is left to wade into the wake of the power and find his control amongst it _'I am not weak'_ he tells himself when he fears that he is – because the cold of the grave threatens to drown him like he's fallen beneath the ice of a frozen lake and he can not find the surface; he feels a sense of loss he's never tasted, and thinks Anita as lost as he is.

Within in him – them – the anger rages up, rebels, and Harry refuses to simply die this way, swept sway in power that is his – theirs – so he does what Anita hasn't the skill to do yet (his sudden anger is his sister's gift) he reaches out and _demands_ of his black necromancy– stability, a surface to stand upon – balance, and what he asks of his power, it gives.

Augustine, when Harry looks to him again, is wide eyed, and Harry feels the tie of necromancy between them like a line with a hook within him. Harry tries to lift it, but at his touching his own power Augustine groans, and Harry knows this is a tie he hadn't meant to make – and he doesn't know if there is an unmaking of it.

"Triumvirate." Augustine murmurs in awe, still with that strange unnerving stare.

Augustine sits back, slumping angst the back of his seat, one of his lions – there are two – is blue haired and looks to Augustine and to Harry and inhales. It makes Harry aware of what Augustine – and his lions – smell like, like dust and musk and grass grown wild and blood, blood pumping and thumbing so temptingly until it spills onto the tongue like lapping up the life-force of the world, its rich metals, flesh and meat.

Harry takes a shuddering, horrified breath, knowing these things so intimately isn't his power – yet is – and it's not his own eyes and senses he sees and feels these things with – the joy of the hunt, how he knows the taste of blood, how good it feels to tear into flesh, to break bone, to bruise skin –Victor stumbles into his mother's rooms, panting, eyes looking left and right, searching, darting, and when they land on Harry he draws a breath like a drowning man finding air.

"What…what did you say?" Harry can't hear what Bibiana says past hearing his heart beating, can't see anything but Augustine, and can't smell anything but lions and Victor, moist rain washed earth to the lion's aired dirt, green and wild growing jungle things to wild dry grasses and .

"That power, necromancy, isn't it? My little animator, your secret is safe with me – I'll not tell, and they most certainly will not – it would not mean only your death, but mine – and likely theirs, and Bibiana's boy. And what is life to a Queen with no heir to the Clan?" Harry can hear Augustine, hear how his tongue curls about the words like a caress, how his teeth shape each sound. He can't though; Harry can't tell Augustine what he wants to know.

He only knows that he's done something he's never done before, and he's saved himself – saved Anita, but perhaps doomed them too, in ways he can't stop or take back.

"I…I can't…say..." Augustine smiles and Harry has never seen anything like it. It's then that the power spills out, warningly and shockingly hot, Augustine is playing with him, his feelings – his love – Harry hisses out a breath, warningly, breaths though the lust-love that Augustine has thrown over him like a net tossed into the sea.

Harry reminds himself that Augustine doesn't know what he's caught. Harry is a necromancer, a master of the dead, all dead – and he knows how to use power, his or this other kind of power that demands to be used and to use others.

Harry takes hold of the warm rushing power, the power that craves sex or the thrill of the hunt, and he makes it a noose and throws it to Augustine, he hears the Master Vampire's groan, his longing – and Harry realizes he's caught him, Augustine welcomes the touch of this, wants it, and Harry can't resist giving him what he wants (all the dead, he feels the needs of, but Augustine most of all now, he drowns with him in the craving of it)– and more, more, more until Augustine is his, his to take, to hunt, to tame.

Augustine takes a shaky breath when Harry stops feeding him the power – stops feeding from the Master Vampire, he opens half lidded eyes and peers up at Harry, a intimate look – and Harry knows that this vampire – Augustine, the mob-boss, the Master of the City for Chicago, Master Vampire, is his – Harry's servant.

He can meet Augustine's eyes anytime and anywhere he wants and Augustine will never be able to take more power from Harry than what Harry wants to give him. It's a chilling feeling – and thrilling, the power coils down, dark and content, ready to slumber like a serpent after a feast and sunbath.

Harry swallows down the greedy sickness, and looks around to see Augustine's lions watching him, nostrils flared and tongues picking out of their mouths, tasting the air. Harry doesn't dare look down the length of them, fearing he knows just what he'll see, what else has affected them.

Victor watches with wary and warm eyes, at the side of his mother now, calm, as if being near Harry and Augustine was what he had needed so desperately. Harry feels Victor's warm wash of – of love, not simple friendship, not brotherhood, loyalty and love, life long companionship is a promise raining down on the tie that Harry has made between them, hook like indeed – a barb that goes both ways.

Bibiana laughs, playfully delighted, and pulls Harry down to sit at her side on the loveseat – this time, Harry doesn't resist.

"Our Harry, he has many talents, no Augustine?" Her tone is teasing, but her eyes are steady as she runs her fingers through Harry's hair, soothing him with her touch and petting.

"Yes, yes, I can see that clearly. Your son is lucky." There is longing in Augustine, but he won't fight for Harry with Victor – not unless Harry wants him to and directs him to do so. Augustine is his, his like Victor is.

"So too are you, I think." Bibiana eyes the Master Vampire, and there is nothing approving in it.

"I'll take my leave of you now Bibiana, it was a pleasure, Harry." Augustine stands, wavering only a little under his own power, but he does steady, and walks out, halting and slow, but without a backward look. Harry knows it will not be the last time they meet.

It isn't. Augustine doesn't leave Las Vegas until Van Cleef calls in Jacob Leon and his werelion pride of guns-for-hire, to make Las Vegas their home territory, because the Master Vampire won't leave until he knows there are werelions near Harry. He leaves with that small comfort, that if Harry is in danger those werelions will know it and tell it to him and he can act to protect Harry (his Master) through them.

Harry doesn't let it bother him too much, the added muscle of lions to the tigers he was already saddled with – not until he meets Nicky, and realizes he's taken a part of Augustine's power. The lions are his as much as they are Augustine's – and Jacob's lieutenant Nicky is Rex to Harry's…whatever it is.

(Harry still can't figure out if he chose Nicky, if Nicky chose him – or if the chemistry of the power is to blame.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (French) Après moi, le déluge.  
> (English) After me, the deluge. (After I'm gone, there will be chaos.) 
> 
> Is a phrase of a attitude between "damn the consequences" and "the devil may care"; it is attributed to Louis XV or Madame de Pompadour. 
> 
> Our meaning is that after Oliver's death, there will be chaos/consequences.


End file.
